Code Black

The day started with blood.

Regulus barely had time to breathe before the chaos hit him. The emergency ward was alive with the sharp scent of antiseptic and iron, the hum of diagnostic spells filling the air. A stretcher rolled past him, a medi-witch barking orders, and somewhere down the hall, someone was screaming.

It was going to be one of those days.

“Black!” Marlene McKinnon appeared at his side, already halfway through pulling on her gloves. “Trauma bay two—two criticals. Lupin’s already in there.”

Regulus arched a brow but didn’t bother responding. He had a job to do.

Pushing through the doors, he barely had time to take in the room before a voice greeted him, warm and just a touch amused.

“Well, well. They sent me the mysterious Dr. Black.”

Regulus turned and found himself face-to-face with Remus Lupin. He’d seen him around before, had caught flashes of rolled-up sleeves and tired smiles in passing, but they’d never properly worked together.

Regulus had heard things—Lupin’s brilliant,Lupin’s got a ridiculous bedside manner,Lupin flirts with everyone—but none of it had really concerned him. Until now.

Now, Lupin was smirking at him over the body of a half-conscious patient, sleeves pushed up, wand in hand, and looking far too comfortable for someone elbow-deep in a medical crisis.

“Not that mysterious,” Regulus replied smoothly, stepping to the opposite side of the stretcher. “Vitals?”

“Dropping,” Lupin said, grin fading as he flicked his wand over the patient’s chest. “Blunt force trauma, possible internal bleeding. If we don’t act fast—”

“We operate,” Regulus finished.

Lupin’s eyes flickered with something—approval, maybe. “I like a man who gets to the point.”

Regulus huffed a laugh, surprising even himself. “Less talking, more working, Lupin.”

They moved together seamlessly, casting spells in sync, hands brushing every so often as they worked. The patient was fading, his pulse growing weaker.

Lupin glanced up at him. “Ever done emergency surgery in a trauma bay before?”

Regulus met his gaze. “Have you?”

Lupin grinned. “Nope. But I like the idea of it.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but didn’t fight the smirk tugging at his lips. “Then try to keep up.”

They worked in silence after that, the urgency pressing down on them. Lupin’s hand brushed his wrist as he passed a sterilization charm over the wound, and Regulus ignored the warmth that followed.

“Almost there,” Lupin murmured, voice lower now, focused. “Just a little more—”

Regulus sealed the ruptured organ with a flick of his wand, and the monitor gave a steady beep.

Lupin exhaled, leaning back. “Well, Black, I think we just saved a life together. That means we have a bond now.”

Regulus gave him a look. “A bond?”

Lupin grinned. “Unbreakable, even.”

Regulus let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re smiling.”

Regulus schooled his face into neutrality immediately, but Lupin just smirked knowingly.

Before Regulus could respond, the doors swung open, and Marlene strode in. She gave the patient a once-over before nodding in approval. “He’s stable. You two should take a minute.”

Regulus was already pulling off his gloves, but before he could leave, Lupin’s voice followed him.

“You know,” Lupin mused, tilting his head, “you’re a lot more fun than you let people think.”

Regulus paused. Then, without turning around, he said, “And you’re exactly as irritating as I expected.”

Lupin laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Regulus didn’t reply, but the smirk on his lips was hard to suppress as he walked out.

Regulus barely had time to step out of the trauma bay before he spotted Sirius leaning against the nurse’s station, arms crossed, watching something—or someone—in the window of the room he just stepped out of. His expression was difficult to read, but there was a sharpness in his gaze, something assessing.

Regulus slowed his steps. “What are you looking at?”

Sirius didn’t move. “Nothing.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Nothing?”

Sirius finally turned his head, smirking. “Alright, fine. Not nothing. Just someone I didn’t expect to see here.”

Before Regulus could press him, a familiar voice cut in from behind.

“Black.”

Regulus turned, finding himself face to face with Remus Lupin— still somehow looking put together despite the chaos of the ER. He peeled off his gloves with practiced ease, his gaze flickering briefly to Sirius before settling on Regulus.

Sirius pushed off the counter, his smirk deepening. “Lupin.”

Regulus glanced between them, immediately catching the weight in the air. There was something there—something unspoken, not quite tension, but not nothing either.

Remus arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you worked here.”

Sirius shrugged, easy and nonchalant. “Didn’t know you cared.”

Regulus looked between them again, intrigued. “So. You two know each other.”

Remus’s mouth curled at the edges. “You could say that.”

Sirius hummed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Old friends.”

Remus let out a quiet laugh, the sound dry and amused. “That’s one way to put it.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “And what’s the other way?”

Remus smirked but didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch, gaze lingering on Sirius for just a second too long. Then, with a slow smile, he said, “It’s a long story.”

Sirius huffed a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “One that we don’t need to revisit.”

Regulus watched them carefully, noting the way Sirius shifted, just slightly. He wasn’t nervous—not exactly—but there was a guardedness to him that Regulus wasn’t used to seeing.

“Well,” Regulus said, crossing his arms. “I’d love to stay and decipher whatever this is, but unlike some people, I actually have work to do.”

Remus turned his attention back to him, an easy grin spreading across his face. “Right. About that—I suppose I should properly introduce myself.”

Regulus blinked, caught off guard. “You already did.”

“Yes, but not in an official capacity.” Remus extended a hand, the corner of his mouth still curved in amusement. “Remus Lupin. Newly hired attending in the ER.”

Regulus stared at him for a moment before shaking his hand. “You’re staying?”

Remus nodded. “Got the job offer a few months ago. Just moved back last week.”

Regulus arched a brow. “Moved back?”

“From the States,” Remus clarified, stuffing his gloves into the bin. “Did my residency and fellowship at Johns Hopkins.”

Regulus blinked. He’d heard the name before—one of the most prestigious medical programs in the world. He studied Remus with newfound interest.

Sirius let out a short laugh. “Right. Because nothing says ‘overachiever’ like ditching Britain entirely for Hopkins.”

Remus smirked. “I had my reasons.”

Regulus caught the shift in his tone, subtle but noticeable. There was something there, some history Sirius clearly knew about. He didn’t push, but he made a mental note to ask later.

Sirius tilted his head. “And yet, here you are. Back home.”

Remus held his gaze for a second longer before replying, “Guess I decided I missed it.”

Regulus wasn’t sure if he was talking about London, the hospital, or something—or someone—else entirely.

“Well,” Remus continued, breaking the moment. “It’s good to be back. And it seems I’ve already found some familiar faces.”

Sirius snorted. “Lucky us.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Right. Well, if you two are done reminiscing, some of us have actual work to do.”

Remus grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your brooding, Black.”

Regulus smirked. “Flattering.”

Remus took a step back but then paused, glancing at Regulus one last time. “Hey.”

Regulus turned, raising an eyebrow.

“If you ever want to hear the real version of that long story,” Remus said, smirk widening, “drinks are on me.”

Regulus hummed, considering. “I’ll think about it.”

As he walked away, he could feel Sirius and Remus’s eyes still locked on each other. Whatever history was between them, it was unfinished. And Regulus, for once, was very interested in someone else’s drama.

Regulus barely made it three steps down the corridor before James’s voice cut through the hum of the hospital.

“Black.”

Regulus exhaled slowly, already bracing himself, before turning around.

James stood a few feet away, sleeves rolled up, a cup of coffee in one hand, robes slightly disheveled. There was something unreadable in his expression, something too knowing, too perceptive, as he watched Regulus with that irritating, quiet intensity.

Regulus lifted an eyebrow. “Potter.”

James took a slow sip of his coffee before speaking. “Didn’t realize you and Lupin were getting along so well.”

Regulus blinked, momentarily thrown. “Excuse me?”

James shrugged, shifting his weight slightly. “You two made quite the team in the trauma bay. Pretty seamless for two people who just met.”

Regulus frowned, irritation curling at the edges of his already-frayed patience. “We were doing our jobs.”

James hummed, tilting his head. “Sure.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “If you have something to say, Potter, say it.”

James studied him for a moment, unreadable, then smiled—small, sharp. “I just think it’s interesting.”

Regulus’s jaw clenched. He wasn’t entirely sure what James thought he was insinuating, but whatever it was, it didn’t matter.

They had been working together for a little while now, long enough to know each other’s habits, long enough to anticipate each other in high-stress situations. But that didn’t mean anything.

Not the way James looked at him sometimes. Not the way their conversations always felt like they were skirting around something unspoken. Not the way Regulus had spent too much time trying not to think about that first night, before either of them had realized they’d be working in the same hospital.

James watched him for a second longer, then took another sip of his coffee, all casual nonchalance. “Wouldn’t want to keep Lupin waiting.”

Regulus didn’t react.

Didn’t let himself react.

But something sharp and irritated twisted in his chest as he turned on his heel and walked away.

Because James had no reason to care.

And yet—he did.

Regulus didn’t stop walking until he was inside an empty supply room, the door clicking shut behind him.

The air was cool, sterile, thick with the scent of antiseptic. He exhaled slowly, pressing his palms against the nearest shelf, fingers curling against the edge like he could ground himself with something tangible.

Regulus could still feel the weight of his gaze, the way James had watched him with that quiet, irritating scrutiny, like he was waiting for Regulus to react. Like he knew there was something to react to.

There wasn’t.

There couldn’t be.

They worked together. That was it. The rest—whatever it had been, whatever it had almost been before they realized their mistake—was irrelevant.

Regulus had spent too long perfecting the art of detachment, of keeping himself distant and untouchable. He had built walls so carefully that even he didn’t know what existed behind them anymore. And yet, James Potter had the audacity to stand there, to smirk like he knew something Regulus didn’t, to prod at the edges of things Regulus wasn’t prepared to acknowledge.

It was nothing.

It had to be nothing.

Regulus straightened, inhaling sharply, smoothing his hands down the front of his coat. His pulse had steadied. His thoughts had settled.

He wouldn’t let this become anything more than what it was.

With one last breath, he turned and stepped back out into the corridor, slipping back into the life he had constructed for himself, where nothing touched him and nothing ever would.

The intercom crackled overhead, the sharp voice of the charge nurse cutting through the quiet hum of the hospital.

“Incoming trauma—three patients, multiple injuries, ETA two minutes. Trauma Bay One. All available staff, prepare for intake.”

Regulus barely had time to exhale before he was moving, falling into step beside the other trainees rushing toward the bay. But as he stepped through the doors, he realized he wasn’t the first to arrive.

Remus Lupin was already there, wand in hand, sleeves rolled up, his expression sharp with focus. Sirius stood next to him, arms crossed, his usual easy arrogance replaced with something colder, more professional. And then, of course—Potter.

Potter was at the far end of the room, flipping through a clipboard, gaze skimming the details with quick efficiency. He barely looked up as he spoke.

“Black,” he said, and Regulus knew he meant him, not Sirius.

Regulus straightened instinctively, nodding.

James glanced over, giving him a brief once-over before tilting his head toward the approaching stretchers. “You’re with me.”

Regulus hesitated for only a fraction of a second. He’d worked under James before—had learned to stomach the way the man carried himself, all charm and intensity, like he was made for this kind of work. But choosing him, without a moment’s thought, without even looking at the others—it did something to Regulus’s chest that he didn’t want to name.

Still, he nodded, stepping to James’s side.

The emergency transport team burst in, pushing the stretchers forward with a flick of their wands. The sharp scent of burnt fabric and blood filled the air, and the beeping of monitoring spells layered over the tense murmurs of incoming vitals.

“All three were caught in an explosion—unknown magical origin,” the medi-witch leading the team reported briskly. “One stable, one deteriorating fast, one unresponsive.”

Regulus barely had time to register the words before James was moving, his voice sharp and controlled. “I’ll take the critical. Black, you’re with me.”

Regulus snapped into motion without hesitation, following James to the second stretcher. The patient—a wizard in his late thirties, his robes scorched and torn—was barely conscious, his breathing shallow and labored. A jagged wound stretched across his torso, dark magic still crackling at the edges, refusing to heal.

Regulus swore under his breath. The injury was deep—enchanted fire damage, from the way the skin blackened and resisted traditional healing charms.

“Curse wound,” he reported, already casting diagnostic spells. “Lingering magical contamination—looks unstable.”

James nodded, running a quick scan with his wand. His brows furrowed. “It’s still active. Someone used something nasty on him—spellwork’s resisting standard reversal magic.”

Regulus pressed his lips together, flicking his wand again. “I can try an isolating charm—”

“No good,” James interrupted, his voice tight with focus. “Not until we know what kind of magic we’re dealing with. If we try to counteract it blindly, it could spread.”

Regulus swallowed, shifting his grip on his wand. “Then what do we do?”

James met his eyes, something unreadable in his expression—something firm, steady. “We slow it down. Keep him stable until we can isolate the magic properly.”

Regulus nodded, already murmuring a containment incantation under his breath, his magic weaving tightly over the wound to slow the corruption. Across the room, the tension between Sirius and Remus had thickened like a storm cloud, but they were both working—functioning—even as the air crackled between them.

Sirius was handling the stable patient, but his movements were sharper than usual, his jaw tight. Remus, on the other hand, was working over the unconscious one, his sleeves pushed to his elbows, expression composed but alert.

Regulus knew Sirius. Knew the way his brother held onto emotions like live wires, burning under his skin. And from the way Remus wasn’t quite looking at him, wasn’t quite speaking in his direction unless necessary—Regulus knew that whatever history lay between them was still unfinished.

And James—James was right there, his magic pulsing steady against Regulus’s own, their movements perfectly in sync. Too in sync. It was infuriating.

“Black,” James murmured, his voice low but firm. “Keep your focus here.”

Regulus blinked, jaw tightening. He hadn’t even realized he’d glanced away.

“I am focused,” he said stiffly, even as James arched a brow at him, unconvinced.

Still, James didn’t argue. Just gave him a look—one that sent something twisting in Regulus’s chest—before turning his attention back to their patient.

And Regulus—he forced himself to ignore the tension thickening in the room, the weight of James standing too close, the unspoken history simmering between Sirius and Remus.

Because right now, the only thing that mattered was keeping their patient alive.

Even if it felt like the whole room was holding its breath.

James didn’t hesitate, shifting his grip on his wand as he murmured another spell, his magic pulsing through the air in controlled waves. Regulus focused on the way James’s spellwork wrapped around the wound, isolating the cursed energy without aggravating it further.

“Stabilizing charm in place,” James reported. “But it’s not going to last long.”

Regulus gritted his teeth. The dark magic was persistent, still writhing at the edges of the wound like something alive. His containment spell was holding, but barely—the cursed energy kept resisting, trying to seep deeper into the tissue.

“We need to remove the contaminated flesh before it spreads further,” Regulus said, his voice sharper than he intended.

James flicked his gaze to him, something quick and assessing in his eyes before he gave a curt nod. “Agreed. I’ll cut away the dead tissue—you keep the containment field steady.”

Regulus exhaled, positioning himself to maintain the magical barrier as James raised his wand over the wound.

“Diffindo.”

James’s precision was flawless. The severed, corrupted flesh lifted away cleanly, vanishing under the sterilization spell Regulus cast in tandem. The wound, now raw and bleeding freely, was no longer edged with creeping darkness.

But it still wasn’t closing.

“Dammit,” James muttered, casting another diagnostic charm. “The curse went deeper than I thought—there’s still lingering corruption in his bloodstream.”

Regulus frowned. “A standard counter-curse won’t be enough. We need something stronger.”

James hesitated for half a second, his fingers tightening around his wand. Then, with a quiet exhale, he met Regulus’s gaze. “I can draw it out manually. But I’ll need your help to contain it.”

Regulus barely suppressed a flicker of surprise. Extraction magic was dangerous—risky even for skilled healers. But James looked sure. Steady.

Regulus gave a firm nod. “Do it.”

James didn’t waste time. He pressed his wand just above the wound, murmuring an incantation under his breath. A deep red glow flared at the tip of his wand as the cursed energy slowly unraveled, pulling free from the man’s bloodstream like strands of black smoke.

Regulus raised his wand, casting a siphoning charm to isolate the malignant energy before it could lash out. The dark magic writhed under his containment, resisting, pushing against the barriers of his spell.

“Steady,” James murmured, his voice barely above a breath.

Regulus kept his grip firm, pushing his magic outward, wrapping around the curse like iron chains. His control had to be perfect—one misstep, and the dark magic could lash back, infecting either of them instead.

The tension in the air thickened. James’s breathing was measured, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Regulus could feel it—James’s magic brushing against his, warm and steady, reinforcing the barriers he’d woven. It was an odd feeling, their magic working together like this, two forces in sync without hesitation.

It made Regulus’s pulse stutter.

Then, finally—finally—the cursed energy let out a last shudder and broke apart under their combined efforts, dissolving into harmless embers that vanished in the air.

The patient’s breathing evened out, his vitals stabilizing on the monitoring spell. The wound, no longer fighting back, was already beginning to heal.

Regulus exhaled, lowering his wand. Across from him, James did the same, rolling his shoulders back with a satisfied nod.

“Good work,” James said, meeting his gaze.

Regulus swallowed. There was something in James’s eyes—something unreadable, something heavy. Their magic had just settled, and yet Regulus could still feel the remnants of it, the lingering warmth in his fingertips.

He looked away first. “You too.”

Before James could say anything else, Sirius’s voice cut across the room.

“Oi, Potter,” he drawled, still standing over his own patient, “if you’re done making eyes at my little brother, we’ve got more work to do.”

Regulus stiffened instantly, the moment snapping like a rubber band.

James, infuriatingly, only grinned. “Jealous, Black?”

Sirius scoffed, but his eyes flickered toward Remus for the briefest second—something sharp, something charged—before he turned back with a smirk. “Please. If I were jealous, you’d know.”

Regulus clenched his jaw, ignoring the way his face heated.

“Enough,” Remus cut in, his tone easy but firm. “We still have a job to do.”

Sirius met his gaze, something unreadable flickering between them for a half-second too long.

Regulus exhaled, forcing himself to focus back on his patient.

Because this—this push-and-pull, this undercurrent of tension running thick in the air—was just another complication he didn’t have the time or patience to deal with.

They moved in sync, slipping back into the rhythm of their work, but the tension hung thick in the air. The trauma bay was still chaotic—monitoring spells flickering, diagnostic charms humming, the sharp scent of blood and antiseptic clinging to the air. There was no time to dwell on anything else.

Regulus stepped away from the first patient, eyes scanning the room. James was already moving toward another stretcher, his jaw tight with focus as he assessed the next case. Sirius and Remus were on opposite sides of the room, working separately but—Regulus noted—not ignoring each other.

Pushing aside any stray thoughts, Regulus made his way to the next patient—a young witch, unconscious, her breathing too shallow for comfort.

“Blunt force trauma,” he muttered, flicking his wand over her. The spell pulsed in response, revealing fractures along her ribs and a slow internal bleed.

“Got it?” James asked, appearing at his side again.

Regulus gave a sharp nod. “She’s stable for now, but if we don’t stop the bleed—”

“I’m on it,” James interrupted, already raising his wand. “I’ll reinforce the clotting charm while you repair the fractures.”

Regulus didn’t hesitate. He placed the tip of his wand against her ribs, whispering a spell under his breath. Slowly, carefully, the fractures began to mend, knitting together with each measured pulse of magic. Beside him, James was just as focused, his spellwork precise, steady.

As they worked, Regulus caught flickers of movement from the other side of the room. Sirius was tending to a patient, his expression unusually grim as he muttered under his breath. Remus stood beside him, hands steady, but there was something charged in the space between them.

Regulus barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He didn’t have the time or the patience for whatever unresolved tension was simmering between them.

“Done,” James said, exhaling as his spell settled over their patient. “Bleed’s under control.”

Regulus nodded, finishing the final fracture repair. The witch’s vitals steadied, her breathing smoothing out as the worst of the damage mended.

Another life saved.

James turned his head slightly, watching Sirius and Remus work. “Think they’ll kill each other before the night’s over?” he murmured, lips barely twitching.

Regulus huffed, wiping a hand over his face. “Wouldn’t be the worst outcome.”

James grinned. “Aw, come on. Admit it—there’s something entertaining about watching them dance around whatever that is.”

Regulus ignored him. Instead, he turned toward the last stretcher in the room, where a middle-aged wizard lay unconscious, his skin eerily pale.

Remus and Sirius were already on him.

“Curse damage,” Remus said, voice clipped. “Same signature as the first patient, but deeper.”

Sirius frowned. “His vitals are worse.”

“Which means we have less time,” James added, stepping closer. “Regulus—can you get a read on how deep the curse spread?”

Regulus inhaled sharply, raising his wand. A diagnostic spell revealed dark tendrils of magic wrapped around the man’s lungs, coiled tight like a vice. His heart was struggling, barely keeping up.

“Shit,” Regulus muttered. “It’s in his respiratory system.”

Sirius swore under his breath. Remus’s jaw clenched.

“We don’t have time to extract it slowly,” James said, eyes narrowing. “We need to force it out.”

“That’s a risk,” Remus warned. “If we’re not careful—”

“I know,” James cut in. “But if we don’t—”

“He dies,” Regulus finished.

A beat of silence passed.

Then, Sirius rolled his shoulders back. “Alright, then. Let’s get to work.”

Regulus tightened his grip on his wand, meeting James’s gaze. He felt it again—that same unspoken pull between them, that same weight of understanding.

No room for hesitation. No room for mistakes.

With a final breath, they moved as one.

The room buzzed with urgency, but Regulus forced himself to focus. There was no space for doubt—not when a man’s life was slipping between their fingers.

“I’ll isolate the curse,” he said, wand already moving in a tight arc over the patient’s chest. “James, you’ll need to stabilize his vitals the second I start extracting.”

James nodded sharply. “I’ve got it.”

Regulus felt James shift closer, the heat of his presence steadying, grounding. Across from them, Sirius and Remus exchanged a look—brief, unreadable—but whatever was left unsaid between them was pushed aside.

“I’ll reinforce the barriers,” Remus said, rolling up his sleeves. “Keep the curse from spreading further.”

Sirius exhaled, lips pressing into a thin line. “And I’ll anchor him. If this goes wrong, we’ll need to counteract the magical backlash fast.”

No one argued. They moved in tandem—silent, practiced, efficient.

Regulus pressed his wand to the man’s sternum, whispering an incantation under his breath. A sharp, blackened mist curled outward, resisting him immediately, clinging to the man’s lungs like living tendrils.

The patient jerked violently. His pulse spiked on the monitoring spell, erratic and unsteady.

“Easy,” James murmured, magic humming under his touch as he pressed a steadying hand to the man’s shoulder. His other hand hovered over the man’s heart, magic pulsing in controlled waves. “I’ve got him.”

Regulus barely spared James a glance—he couldn’t afford to—but he could feel the strength in his magic, the precise control James wielded with effortless confidence.

Good. That was good.

Remus flicked his wand, reinforcing the barriers as the cursed magic fought back. The mist writhed violently, striking against the containment field.

“We need to move faster,” Sirius muttered, his jaw tight. “If it lashes back, we all take a hit.”

Regulus grit his teeth. “Then hold it steady.”

Sirius shot him a sharp look, but he didn’t argue. He tightened his grip, stabilizing the patient’s body while Regulus pulled.

It was like unraveling something ancient and foul—like trying to extract poison embedded deep into flesh. The curse resisted, twisting, trying to dig in further.

“Almost there,” Regulus said, his own pulse hammering in his ears. The magic fought harder, lashing at his own fingers now, stinging up his wrist.

James moved closer, his magic pressing in, a steady counterbalance. “I’ve got you,” he murmured.

Regulus exhaled, steadying himself.

And pulled.

The mist gave a final violent shudder—then tore free.

The patient seized, then slumped.

The curse writhed in Regulus’s grip, pulsing with unnatural energy, and without hesitation, Sirius flicked his wand, setting it alight in a controlled burst of blue fire. The dark magic curled inward, hissing as it burned, then vanished into nothing.

Silence rang in the room.

The patient’s vitals steadied. His breathing, though shallow, evened out.

Regulus let out a slow breath, his fingers twitching from the strain. James was still beside him, close enough that when Regulus turned slightly, their shoulders brushed.

“You alright?” James asked, voice quieter now.

Regulus hesitated—but nodded. “Fine.”

James didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push.

Across from them, Remus sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Well. That was fun.”

Sirius let out a breathless laugh, still watching the now-stabilized patient. “Yeah. Let’s never do that again.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately, I don’t think we get a choice.”

James grinned, exhaustion creeping into his expression. “Lucky us.”

Regulus turned away before James’s smile could do anything to him.

The room was still humming with fading tension, but the job was done. The patient was alive.

And yet, as they started the cleanup, Regulus couldn’t shake the weight in his chest—the way James had looked at him, the way Sirius and Remus’s charged silence crackled in the air.

Something had shifted tonight.

And Regulus wasn’t sure he was ready to acknowledge any of it.

Later that evening, the hospital had quieted—at least, as much as it ever did. The chaos of the day had dulled into a steady hum, the urgency replaced with exhaustion.

Regulus found himself in the break room, where the other trainees had already gathered, sprawled across mismatched chairs and the worn-out sofa that had been in the hospital longer than any of them.

Barty Crouch Jr. was perched on the counter, one leg swinging lazily as he stirred an absurd amount of sugar into his tea. Evan Rosier leaned back in a chair, arms crossed, watching him with vague amusement. Dorcas Meadowes had claimed the corner of the sofa, head resting back against the cushions, eyes half-closed in something between exhaustion and exasperation. Pandora Lovegood sat cross-legged on the floor, quietly flipping through a medical journal, occasionally making notes in the margins with a glittering purple quill.

Regulus hesitated in the doorway, considering leaving entirely, but Barty’s eyes flicked up immediately.

“Well, well,” Barty drawled, grinning. “Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but stepped inside anyway. “I was working.”

“So were we,” Dorcas muttered, not opening her eyes. “Some of us just actually know how to sit down afterward.”

Regulus ignored her and made his way to the counter, leaning against it beside Barty.

Evan arched an eyebrow. “You look like you’re thinking too hard about something.”

“I’m not,” Regulus said flatly.

Barty snorted. “Which means he absolutely is.” He took a sip of his tea, studying Regulus with a smirk. “What is it? Did Potter do something? You always get that look when he’s involved.”

Regulus tensed, but only for a fraction of a second. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dorcas cracked one eye open. “You know exactly what he’s talking about.”

Regulus scowled. “It’s nothing.”

“Mm.” Pandora finally looked up from her journal, tilting her head in that way she always did when she was about to say something disarmingly accurate. “Nothing has a way of becoming something if you think about it too much.”

Regulus exhaled slowly. “I’m not thinking about anything.”

Barty snickered. “Sure.”

Regulus ignored them, reaching for the nearest cup and filling it with the last of the coffee that had been sitting in the pot for god-knows-how-long. It tasted burnt. Fitting.

The others fell into conversation again, debating their worst cases of the day, but Regulus only half-listened. His mind kept pulling back, unbidden, to the way James had looked at him earlier. The sharp amusement in his voice, the careful prodding, the way he had said Wouldn’t want to keep Lupin waiting.

Regulus hated that it still lingered.

Hated that his colleagues had noticed anything at all.

He forced the thought away, instead focusing on the sound of Barty laughing too loudly at something Evan said, the scratch of Pandora’s quill against paper, the steady hum of voices filling the space.

This was his life. This was what mattered.

And yet, James Potter was still there, at the edges of his mind, refusing to be ignored.

Dorcas let out a dramatic sigh, pulling Regulus out of his head, rubbing a hand over her face. “Speaking of infuriating, Marlene was on my case all day.”

Barty smirked. “That’s because you love it.”

Dorcas shot him a glare. “I don’t.”

“You do,” Evan said, voice as smooth as ever. “It’s painfully obvious.”

Pandora, still scribbling in the margins of her journal, murmured, “It’s quite sweet, actually.”

Dorcas groaned, sitting up straighter. “No, it’s not. It’s humiliating. Every time I so much as breathe near her, she finds a reason to correct me on something.”

Barty snorted. “Oh, yes, how dare she do her job.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Maybe if you stopped acting like an idiot every time she walked into a room, she wouldn’t have to.”

Dorcas threw a balled-up napkin at him, which he dodged with a flicker of amusement. “She’s just—she’s so frustrating. And hot. And frustratingly hot.”

Evan smirked. “Tragic.”

Dorcas groaned, slumping back against the couch. “You don’t get it. I’m barely keeping it together. Every time she leans over my shoulder or gives me that look, I forget basic human functions.”

Barty cackled. “Oh, we get it.”

“Maybe you should just tell her,” Pandora offered, in her usual calm, unbothered way.

Dorcas gave her a look. “And die? No, thanks.”

Regulus huffed. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Dorcas pointed at him. “I don’t want to hear that from you, Mr. ‘It’s Nothing’ about Potter.”

Regulus stiffened. “That’s different.”

Barty grinned. “Oh, is it?”

“Yes,” Regulus said curtly, standing and brushing imaginary lint off his scrubs. “And I’m going back to work.”

Dorcas smirked. “Marlene’s on call tonight, you know.”

Regulus ignored her and made his way to the door, but not before hearing Barty mutter, “Bet you five galleons she makes a fool of herself before the week is out.”

Evan hummed. “No bet. That’s a guarantee.”

Regulus smirked to himself as he left, but even as he walked back into the hospital halls, he found himself thinking—Dorcas is an idiot.

And yet, maybe he understood her predicament a little too well.